


The Bite

by bambirosesavage



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Family Feels, Fever, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Nosebleed, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Seizures, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirosesavage/pseuds/bambirosesavage
Summary: Before Peter Parker was Spider-Man, he was just a kid with a spider bite and a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter dropped his backpack from his shoulder before he even closed the apartment door behind him. His shoulders and neck were sore, and the bite on his wrist burned. It had been hurting more and more. He hadn’t even seen the insect that had bitten him. Based on the frantic Googling he had done on the bus on the way to school from Oscorp, it was a spider bite, but he had no idea what kind of spider. He supposed it didn’t matter. One spider was like another.

“Hey, buddy,” May greeted. She put a bookmark in her book and smiled up at her nephew. “How was the field trip?”

“It was pretty cool. I mean, Stark Industries has a better technology department, obviously, but Oscorp is doing a lot in bioengineering. We got to see one of the labs where they were working on lizards and snakes. I think it was something to do with how they shed their skin and regrow it and how something like that could help burn victims.”

May shuddered. “I hate lizards.”

“We saw spiders and frogs, and rats, too,” Peter teased.

May fake-gagged. “There isn’t enough money in the world to get me to go in a place like that. How could they bring children to that horror zoo?”

“It was cool.”

“You’re such a weirdo. I don't know where I went wrong with you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have let me watch horror movies when I was eight,” Peter laughed.

“Hey! _The Thing_ is a classic! You loved it.” May stood and went to the adjoining kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m good. I got a sandwich on the way home. What are we having for dinner, anyway?”

“No idea. Ben is cooking.”

“Thank God.” May was an adventurous cook, but not an especially talented one. Her food tended to be dry, overcooked, and salty, no matter what she made. Ben, on the other hand, was a much better chef.

“Oh, shut up,” May whined, unable to hold back her smile as Peter teased her. “Don't’ you have homework or something to do?” She mussed his hair as he passed, lugging his backpack to his room. Even though it had been a field trip day, Peter still had homework. He always had homework. Midtown High was competitive and required a lot of hard work. The assignments were never too hard for him, but it would be nice to get a break from all the homework. Sighing, Peter pulled biology textbook out of his bag and got to work.

The bite burned and itched, distracting him from his work. At least it was on his left hand, he reasoned. He didn’t have to drag it across his paper as he wrote. He shoved his hand between his knees to keep himself from scratching at it, finally going so far as to get a Band-Aid to put over it. The longer he worked, the harder it was to concentrate. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. His head hurt. He pressed on anyway.

* * *

 

“It smells great, babe.” May looped her arms around her husband’s waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the back of his shoulder. She loved when Ben got home early. Ever since they had gotten Peter, Ben worked longer hours at his electrician’s job to afford the extra expenses. When Peter was little, they were able to save money on daycare by skipping it altogether in favor of May working morning temp jobs so she could be home when Peter got out of school in the afternoon. Now that Peter was old enough to be on his own for a few hours, May took jobs in the afternoon as well, though she still preferred the ones that let her go home early enough to hang out with Peter after school. She’d been lucky enough to land a longer position as the morning secretary at a law firm while the usual secretary was out for maternity leave. It paid better than a lot of jobs she’d had, which was always helpful, and allowed them to save up for Peter’s college fund. Ben swore Peter would be offered a full ride scholarship to whichever school he wanted because his GPA and IQ were so high, but they weren’t taking any chances with their nephew’s future.

“There’s nothing to it,” Ben shrugged. “Just pasta, cheese, and tomato sauce.”

“You say that, but my lasagna always turns out mushy and gross. And I’m the Italian one!”

“Okay, Italian one. Take over the salad for me so I can get it out of the oven.”

May gave Ben a squeeze before relinquishing her hold on him and took place at the cutting board. “Am I cutting these?” She pointed to the bag of baby carrots on the counter.

“Yes,” said Ben, donning a pair of grease-stained oven mitts. “Just the carrots, please. Not your fingers.”

“Picky, picky.”

Ben set the heavy pan of pasta on the stove to cool. Red sauce bubbled around the edges, and the cheese on top was a perfect golden brown. “Peter!” he called. “Dinner!” He set the little table where they always ate their meals and poured drinks for everyone: wine for May and himself and milk for Peter.

May set the finished salad on the table with a flourish. “How’s that?”

The salad contained more carrots than Ben would have added, and they were cut into irregular shapes and sizes. “Perfect. Thank you, honey.” He kissed her forehead. “Peter! It’s dinnertime! Come and get it!”

The couple stood in silence, waiting for Peter’s door to bang open, but there was only silence. “He probably has his headphones on,” May said, tapping Ben’s chest. “He listens to music when he does homework.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll go get him. Don't start without us.”

“You’re funny,” May said, already piling salad onto her plate.

Ben rolled his eyes at his wife and went to Peter’s room. He knocked twice, waited a moment, and opened the door. “Peter? It’s time to eat.”

Peter still didn’t respond. He was sat at his desk, his book open in front of him, but he was slumped over, snuffling softly into his arm, sound asleep.

Ben pushed the boy’s hair back to wake him gently. “Hey, buddy. You tired?”

“Hmm?” Peter blinked his eyes open, only half awake. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Ben kept messing up his hair. He knew it probably looked ridiculous by now, but it felt nice.

“All that homework must be getting to you, huh Petey?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s just homework. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Ben answered. “I’ve been calling you to come eat. We’re waiting for you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay. Come on; let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Even though he usually loved Ben’s cooking, Peter couldn’t do much more than push his food around on his plate. The cheese and garlic that normally made his mouth water turned his stomach sour. He wasn’t hungry at all. He was just tired. The bite, his neck, and his shoulders ached, and a headache was building behind his eyes.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” May asked, wiping marinara sauce from her lips. Ben looked from his wife to his nephew.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong,” said Peter, avoiding eye contact.

“Did something happen at school?” May continued “You didn’t get in a fight with Ned, did you?”

“No, Ned’s great. We don't ever fight.” Peter cut up a noodle and pushed the pieces to the edge of his plate, hoping his guardians wouldn’t notice how little he’d eaten.

“Is that mouthy kid bothering you again?” Ben asked. “What’s his name? Something dumb. Sparky?”

“Flash,” May supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Flash is okay. Really, everything is fine,” Peter insisted.

“Why aren’t you eating, then?” May asked, pointing her fork at Peter’s still full plate.

“I don't know,” Peter mumbled. “I’m not really hungry.”

Ben laughed. “You’re always hungry. You’re fourteen.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighed. He pushed his plate away. There was no point in pretending anymore.”My stomach kind of hurts. I don't know why.”

“You could have said you weren’t feeling well,” May said. “We wouldn’t have made you eat. Or we could have made soup or something for you.”

“Is your stomach the only thing that’s bothering you?” Ben asked.

“I have a headache,” he admitted.

“Peter!” May tried to scold, but her smile gave her amusement away. Ever since Peter had started middle school, he’d been trying to assert his independence more and more, even though he wasn’t really old enough to take care of himself. Things had only progressed since he became a high schooler. “Go take some Tylenol and lie down if you’re feeling sick.”

“I still have homework,” Peter complained but got up from the table at May’s insisting. He swallowed the medicine May gave him and did his homework as fast as he could. He skipped over some of the longer or more complicated questions; he could always get the answers from Ned before school in the morning. He could afford one less than stellar grade. He got into bed much earlier than usual, and when Ben checked in on him before turning in for the night, he was fast asleep.

* * *

 

Peter woke up shivering. The room was still dark, and the apartment was silent. He tried to pull the blankets tighter around himself so he could warm up and fall back asleep, but the sheets were cold and sticky with sweat. Disgusted, Peter kicked off the covers and sat up. The back of his shirt stuck to his skin and made his stomach roil. It gurgled unpleasantly. Acid rose in the back of his throat, and his mouth watered. _Oh, God_.

He lurched out of bed, crashing onto his hands and knees. He scrambled to his feet, his palm pressed firmly over his mouth, and ran to the bathroom. Vomit surged forth with such force he had to hold onto the rim of the toilet to stay upright. He trembled violently, and tears stung his eyes. He hadn’t felt this sick in a long time, not since he got sick on the roller coaster at Coney Island two summers ago. It was almost like something alive had taken up residence in his stomach and was trying to clear everything out. The muscles in his lower back spasmed with every heave, and his head throbbed with the effort of purging his body of its stomach contents.

“Baby?” The light was flipped on, making Peter squeeze his eyes shut. “Oh shit.”

“May,” Peter gagged.

“Petey, sweetie.” May sank onto her knees beside him and cupped the back of his neck. “I thought you were getting sick.” She sat quietly for a moment, twirling the short curls at the back of Peter’s neck around her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasped once he was able to catch his breath. “I woke you up.”

“No, don't apologize,” May said, still petting his hair. “It’s not your fault you’re not feeling well. You can always come to me when you feel sick. Speaking of, do you still need to throw up?”

Miserably, Peter nodded. He shut his eyes tight. “I don't want to throw up again.” His mouth tasted horrible, and the back of his throat burned with acid, but still, he could feel the traitorous burps rising there. Keeping the nausea from overwhelming him was a fight.

“I know you don't.” May stood and wet a washcloth under the cold tap. She dabbed his sweaty neck, and Peter shivered harder. “You’ll feel better if you do and get it over with, though.”

Peter sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his wavering hand. “I hate throwing up. It hurts.” He kept his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. His nose burned. His legs and lower back were beginning to cramp up from kneeling over the toilet. His stomach felt oddly hot while the rest of his body still shook with cold.

May hummed and massaged Peter’s shoulders. “I know, sweetie, but it won’t last forever. When you’re all done, I’ll get you some medicine and you can go back to bed.” She felt his cheek and forehead. “I don't think you have a fever. Not much of one anyway. You’re all sweaty, though. Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don't remember.” Peter was now rocking back and forth, trying to keep the nausea at bay. He couldn’t hold off much longer. Puking was bad enough without an audience, and he knew how sympathetic his aunt was; if he started getting really sick in front of her, she would probably be sick as well.

“I’m going to get you some fresh pajamas and change your sheets. They’re all sweaty, too, aren’t they? Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?” she asked, already getting up.

Peter nodded shakily, bowing his head over the toilet, thankful his aunt knew him well enough to understand when he needed to be left alone. May hadn’t even closed the door yet when Peter started vomiting again. This time he didn’t try to keep from crying. Every time he thought he was done, another wave of nausea struck him and proved him wrong. It made his chest ache. His hands were slippery with sweat. At long last, his stomach ran out of things to throw up, but it still spasmed with dry heaves. Spit and tears dripped from his chin into the toilet water. Revolted, Peter reached up and flushed the mess away. The film of sickness that still coated the inside of his mouth made him gag. He spat into the toilet and rested his head against the seat. He felt clammy all over and completely drained. All he wanted was to go back to bed and sleep for a week straight, but at this point, he would settle for sleeping on the bathroom floor.

A soft knock on the door sounded. “Peter, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, not lifting his head.

May came in looking ready for war. She had on her glasses and had pulled her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head. She had changed into an old T-shirt of Ben’s so Peter wouldn’t get any bodily fluids on her favorite pajamas. “Are you done?” she asked.

Peter nodded, picking his head up reluctantly. It felt too big and heavy on his neck.

May’s eyes went wide. “What happened? Did you bump your face on something?”

“What?”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Peter touched his face and was surprised when his fingers came away red. Suddenly, May was right next to him, pressing a wad of toilet paper to his nose. It didn’t hurt; it just felt like his nose was running.

“Did it just start?” May asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know it was bleeding.”

“You didn’t hit it on anything?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Peter watched her toss the sodden red toilet paper into the toilet. His stomach turned at the sight of blood, and he turned his head away.

“It’s really gushing, huh?” May smiled, trying to cheer him up. “It’s probably because you were throwing up so hard. You must have burst a capillary or something.”

Peter shrugged. He didn’t care why it was bleeding; he just wanted it to stop so he could sleep. He was so exhausted.

“Peter? Come on. Keep your head up for me.”

Peter must have fallen asleep again because the next thing he knew, May was pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. He tried to be helpful, but his limbs were uncoordinated and heavy, so May did most of the work. He was too tired to be embarrassed when he had to change his pants for him. He sat still while May cleaned the blood and vomit from his face and took his temperature. May determined his fever wasn’t high enough to try to give him medicine while his stomach was still upset.

“All right.” May threw Peter’s dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She pulled him to his feet, and he immediately slumped into her.

The world tilted erratically around him, and grey spots tunneled his vision. Buzzing filled his ears. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

May staggered back as she held him up. Peter was still smaller and shorter than she was, but she wasn’t strong enough to carry him all on her own. “Peter,” she said loudly, making sure to keep her voice even and calm. “Pete, you’re all right. Listen to me. Take a deep breath. You’re okay. Lean against me. That’s a good boy.”

The walk to Peter’s room seemed to take years. Peter did his best to shuffle along with May supporting the majority of his weight. Once he was finally lowered onto the bed, he was breathing hard, and perspiration dotted his hairline. The sheets were cold and clean as May tucked them around him, making him shiver. Despite the chill, he fell asleep within seconds.

May sat with him for a long while, watching him sleep. Peter had always been a somewhat sickly kid, but he hadn’t been really sick in years. As a little boy, he had been plagued with near constant ear infections and head colds. He didn’t usually have many stomach issues, and as he’d gotten older, many of the typical childhood illnesses he suffered from dwindled away. Whatever virus Peter had picked up, she hoped it would be gone by morning. She kissed his forehead before going to bed herself.


	2. Chapter 2

May didn’t sleep well that night. Having lived in New York City all her life, she was accustomed to constant noise from the traffic and night owls outside. She couldn’t sleep in a place that was completely quiet. It was creepy. So long as he had her sleep mask and some sort of ambient sound, she could sleep anywhere. However, every little noise woke her up that night. Peter was so stubborn and wanted so badly to be independent, but May seriously doubted Peter realized how sick he was. She was terrified he would try to get to the bathroom by himself and pass out. He’d basically blacked out when he stood up earlier. The nosebleed had caught her off guard as well. Rationally, she knew that a nosebleed wasn’t a major cause of concern, but it had still shocked her.

She rolled back and forth, lying on her left side, then her right. She lay nose to nose with Ben and stared at him. She knew he would freak out if he woke up and saw her staring at him. She wanted him to wake up. She wanted him to tell her that she was being silly and overprotective. She wanted him to tuck her head under his chin and hold her to his chest until she fell asleep. Ben didn’t wake, though. May hadn’t expected him to. He always slept like a log, totally still and silent next to her in the bed, undisturbed by May’s tossing and turning. When sleep did come to her, it arrived in short bursts, punctuated by dreams of falling and phantom sounds. Finally, as sunlight began to filter weakly through the window, May allowed herself to get up.

“Hon, what’re you doing?” Ben murmured, coming to life at last. His eyes were open in slits, and his face was scrunched up. “Why’re you up so early?”

May drew her red, kimono-style robe around her shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep. Peter was up sick last night.”

“Oh no.” Ben sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Throwing up, mostly,” May recounted. “He had a nosebleed and a low fever.”

“Do you want to call him out of school today?”

“Maybe. I want to see how he’s feeling first. Like I said, his fever wasn’t very high. If he’s not sick to his stomach anymore, he should be okay to go to school.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll go start the coffee if you want to go check on him.”

“Ben, you don't have to get up yet. Sleep a little bit more; I can take care of Petey.”

“Yeah, but there’s no point trying to sleep if you’re getting up. I’ll miss you too much.”

May laughed. “You’re sweet. Cheesy as hell, but sweet.”

Peter’s room was still dark as May expected it to be. Peter usually didn’t wake up for school until he absolutely had to. “Peter, baby,” May whispered as she entered his messy room. She could make out his bundled outline on the bed, buried under the blankets. She turned on the bedside lamp and felt her heart leap into her throat at what she saw. A pool of tacky, half-dried blood stained the pillow, and rusty flecks spotted the sheets.

“Peter! Peter, wake up!” May yanked the covers down from her nephew’s face. His skin was pale, and every freckle across the bridge of his nose stood out starkly. Blood covered the lower half of his face, which was lax in sleep.

May shook him roughly by the shoulder, desperate to see him open his eyes and hear his voice to ensure he was okay. Peter groaned in his sleep and turned his head to the side, but didn’t wake. “Petey,” May called again, her voice louder and shriller now. “Wake up. You have to wake up.” She pulled the covers all the way off the bed. There was blood on Peter’s neck and the collar of his shirt, but it was dry. May probed his neck and chin, trying to find any cut or wound there, but there was none. Despite all the blood, Peter seemed unharmed. May would have been able to relax more if Peter had told her everything was okay, but he remained motionless on the bed.

“Peter, May, what’s wrong?” Ben, alerted by his wife’s yells, bolted into the room, going pale at the sight of the bloody pillows and the face that rested there. “Jesus Christ!”

“It’s okay,” May forced herself to say as calmly as she could. “He must have had another nosebleed during the night.”

Ben approached the bed to see for himself. He turned Peter’s head to face him. “Peter, buddy. Wake up now. We need to get you cleaned up.”

Peter groaned again and tried to roll away from the noise, but Ben held his face between his hands, trapping him in place. Peter furrowed his brow, agitated and confused. He just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn’t they let him sleep? He tried to tell them to leave him alone when he felt himself being moved and sat up, but all that came out was a pathetic whine. Something warm and wet was dragged across his face. Finally, he opened his eyes.

“Peter. Petey, are you awake now?” May’s face filled his vision, too close. He tried to push her away, but she didn’t budge.

“Huh?”

“You had another nosebleed,” May said, but that didn’t make any sense. He looked around, pulling away from his aunt’s cleaning. He must be running late if May was in his room, forcing him to get up. Spotting Ben on May’s other side, Peter reached out to get his attention.

“School. I have school. What time?”

“I don't think you’re going to school today, bud,” Ben said, but that didn’t make sense either. Why were they waking him up and cleaning him up if not to get him ready for school?

“It’s Thursday,” Peter reasoned, but that only made Ben smile.

“You’re sick. I think you should stay home today.”

Peter shook his head. He didn’t have perfect attendance, but he was pretty close to it.  He liked school. He didn’t want to miss it.

As Peter tried to absorb his current situation, May finished washing his face. Satisfied that his nose wasn’t still bleeding, she set the bloody rag aside and moved on to the next task: removing Peter’s pajamas and sheets.

“Petey, do you think you can get up for me? No, not for school,” she cut off his question before he could ask. “Your sheets are dirty. I need to do laundry.”

Peter looked down and for the first time noticed the dried blood splattered over the bed and his clothes. He sucked in a surprised breath. “Aunt May?” His lip trembled.

“No, you’re okay, sweetheart. It’s just a little nosebleed. You’re fine. There’s nothing to get upset about.” She looked to Ben for help, wiping away Peter’s tears. Clearly, this was all too much for the boy to completely understand, and May couldn’t blame him. She’d never woken up sick and covered in blood. He had to be terrified.

Ben quickly removed Peter’s soiled shirt, being careful to avoid his nose in case the pressure caused it to bleed again. Peter didn’t fight and remained compliant as his uncle manhandled him, though his distress was obvious. Ben helped him stand so May could strip his sheets, but Peter’s legs were too shaky to hold his weight, so Peter leaned heavily against Ben’s chest, crying silently all the while.

“I don't have any more sheets for him,” May whispered.

“I thought he had two sets.”

“The other one is in the wash, too.”

“Oh. Well, we can put him on the couch for now,” Ben decided. He picked Peter up bridal style despite his back’s complaint and May’s worried grimace and carried him to the living room.

Once settled on the sofa, Peter seemed to calm down some. With no blood in sight to upset him, Peter stopped crying, though he sniffled and his eyes were red and puffy. He smiled tiredly as May wrapped the crocheted blanket she had made when he was little around him. He wove his fingers through the irregular loops of blue and white yarn and held it tight. May always dug this blanket out of the closet when Peter was sick.

“How are you doing, baby?” May asked once she’d gotten the laundry started.

Peter shrugged. “I have a headache. I’m cold, too.”

May held the back of her hand to his forehead, frowning minutely. “I think your fever went up a little. We’ll check it in a minute. How’s your stomach ache?”

Peter gave a so-so gesture. “Better than last night, but it still hurts.”

“Do you think you’ll throw up again?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll go slow. Where did your uncle go?”

“I’m making tea,” Ben called from the kitchen behind May.

“Good thinking, babe. I want to take your temperature first, though,” she told Peter, who simply nodded. Everything still seemed to be happening awfully fast, but he was content to let May do whatever she thought was best. He stared absentmindedly at the dormant TV screen. His neck was still sore. He must have pulled a muscle or something yesterday. The Band-Aid covering the bite on his wrist was peeling away from the skin slightly, but the bite didn’t hurt. He counted that as a win.

“Here you go.” Ben held out a steaming mug decorated with fading blue paint to look like R2-D2. “Tea for the invalid.”

Peter wrinkled his nose and looked longingly at the black Darth Vader mug Ben was sipping from. “I’d rather have coffee.”

“Coffee’s not good if you have a stomach ache, which is a shame because it’s soooo gooood,” Ben drawled. He took a long drink and smacked his lips, cracking up at Peter’s jealous expression. “The tea is good, too. I promise. It’s peppermint.”

“Green tea is better.”

“Green tea has too much caffeine in it. This one is decaffeinated.”

“Is caffeine bad for stomach aches, too?”

“I don't know. Probably. I know it’s bad for sick people because sick people need to sleep a lot.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Good,” May said s she came back. “That’s all I want you doing today. Here. You know the drill. Under the tongue for two minutes. No talking.”

The thermometer felt cold in his mouth and tasted strongly of metal and rubbing alcohol. He worked hard not to gag.

“101 degrees,” May announced, pulling the device from his lips. “Looks like you’re staying home with me today.”

“How come you get to play hooky and I don't,” Ben teased.

“Because life isn’t fair, and I called dibs.” May patted his cheek.

Ben snorted. “Go on and drink your tea, Peter. It tastes best hot.”

If the tea was considered good hot, Peter couldn’t imagine how bad it would be cold. He didn’t like tea much anyway, and the peppermint tea didn’t do anything to improve his opinion of it. The tea was strong and didn’t have any sugar in it. Mint was supposed to be cold, not hot, and the mixed signals confused his mouth. Peter sipped it slowly as he vaguely watched the morning news show May turned on. He used it to wash down the medicine for his stomach and fever, grimacing at each mouthful. By the time he fell asleep again, he still had half of it left.

“What do you think?” May asked as she helped Peter lie down on the worn sofa. “Should I take him to the doctor?”

Ben bit his thumbnail, gazing down at his nephew. “No,” he finally decided. “Not yet. If he has a stomach bug, there’s nothing much to do besides keeping him hydrated and waiting for it to pass. If he can’t keep water down, we’ll have to take him to the hospital.”

“Can we afford that?" May asked even though the question broke her heart.

“Not really,” Ben answered honestly, “but we’ll make it work if we need to.”

“What about the nosebleeds? He’s never had one before and now he’s had had two in twenty-four hours. That seems weird to me.”

“Me, too,” Ben agreed. “I don't know what’s going on with that. We’ll bring him in if he keeps having them after this stomach virus is out of his system.”

“Okay,” May nodded. “What time are you off tonight?”

“Seven I think. I’ll come home early if I can. Call me if you decide to bring him to the clinic.”

“I will. Now get out of here before you’re late.”

“Love you.” He kissed her goodbye. Stooping over the couch, he kissed Peter’s cheek, something the teenager didn’t let him do much since he turned thirteen. “Love ya, buddy. Feel better.”

Peter mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “okay,” and Ben smiled, musses Peter’s hair, and left.

May slunk around the house the rest of the morning, working hard to stay quiet so Peter could sleep. Being quiet didn’t come naturally to her. Whenever she was home by herself, she liked to sing along to the radio or keep the TV on for background noise to keep herself company. Her every footstep sounded amplified, and even her breathing seemed too loud. She spent her morning tidying the apartment and trying not to hover over her nephew.

For his part, Peter never noticed May’s self-discipline. He slept soundly all morning. He didn’t stir when May checked his fever with the back of her hand and slept through both the game show rerun then soap opera episode that came on when the news ended. By lunchtime, May wasn’t sure if she should wake him up to eat or not. She doubted he would be hungry, but he hadn’t eaten anything in a long time. Although, if he was still sick to his stomach, eating wouldn’t be a good idea. Then again she was sure he must be dehydrated by now. Even if he didn’t want to eat anything, he should at least have some water.

She shook him gently by the shoulder. “Peter, sweetie, it’s lunchtime. Do you want to try to eat something?”

Peter scrunched his eyes tight and groaned. “What is it?”

“Time for lunch. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He rolled over, turning his back to her.

She tried to rouse him again, but he didn’t budge. Sighing, she adjusted the blanket to cover his feet up. She would just have to try again later. Besides, if he really was that tired, sleep would do more for him than food would.

Later in the afternoon, May took Peter's sheets out of the dryer. She sorted through them, separating them into sets. The gray ones she put aside to remake his bed with. The navy ones would go back in the linen cabinet. She remembered her nana could fold even a fitted sheet into a neat, impossibly small square. While that was an admirable skill, May found that folding sheets didn’t make them any cleaner, so she unceremoniously stuffed the blue sheets into one of the matching pillowcases and called it a day. Unfortunately, putting the laundered sheets on the mattress was a necessary difficulty. At least,  she thought, Peter had a twin bed. It was much smaller than the queen size mattress she and Ben shared. A smaller amount of surface area would surely be easier to cover than a larger one. That’s what she told herself even though she didn’t really believe it.

As she remade the bed with Peter’s gray sheets, May found herself missing the dinosaur sheets he had when he was a little boy. She blamed Ben for Peter’s general nerdiness, though she knew she was responsible as well. Peter got his love of science from his uncle. May wasn’t ashamed that much of it went over her head and loved listening to the pair talk about the possibilities of physics and the mysteries of the universe. May’s passion was literature and languages, which Peter had picked up as a love of comic books and pop culture. She read him _Jurassic Park_ , _Harry Potter_ , and _The Lord of the Rings_ as bedtime stories, sharing her love of books with him. He was too old for bedtime stories now, too busy with friends and school. May was proud of him, but part of her missed the little boy who hung on every word of _Frankenstein_ , fascinated rather than afraid.

Despite the smaller size of Peter’s bed, May still broke out in a sweat making it and had to get a drink of water when she was done. A knock at the door around 3 o’clock startled her. “Ned,” she greeted with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi, Mrs. Parker,” Ned smiled back, blushing all the way up to his ears. “Peter wasn’t at school all day, and he didn’t answer my texts. I guess he’s sick.”

“Yeah, he’s been a sick puppy all day. I should have checked his phone for him, huh? He’s been sleeping since early this morning.”

“Oh.” Ned nodded. “I brought his homework for him. I thought I could go over it with him, but if he’s still sleeping…” He cocked his head to the side, unsure.

“I’ll make sure he gives you a call when he wakes up. Thank you for bringing it over. I’m sure Peter will really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, really.” Ned pulled a stack of papers out of his backpack and handed them over. “Tell him I hope he starts feeling better. Will he be in school tomorrow, do you think?”

“Maybe.” May shrugged. “We’ll have to see how tonight goes.”

“All right. Well, I guess I better be going.” He backed awkwardly away from the door.

“Okay, man. Thanks again.” She put Peter’s homework on the kitchen counter. He’d slept through the entire school day. Surely that was enough sleep for one stretch of time.

“Peter, baby, it’s time to wake up now.” May squeezed Peter’s upper arm. The boy didn’t respond. “Come on. You need to eat something.” She shook his shoulder. Peter didn’t stir. May thought back to that morning, Peter difficult to wake, blood on the sheets. She pulled the blanket back to Peter’s waist. There was no blood, but if Peter noticed the change in temperature, he gave no outward sign of it. His breathing was deep and even, undisturbed.

“Peter.” She shook him again, more vigorously this time. His eyelids didn’t even flicker. Her heartbeat picked up speed. “Peter, wake up.” She turned him onto his back. His head lolled to the side. She called his name louder. She patted his chest so hard it was more like beating, She slapped his cheeks. He remained unresponsive. Desperate, she found her phone, ready to call 911 just in case. As a last resort, May tossed a glass of water in her nephew’s face.

Peter spluttered against the onslaught. He wiped the water out of his eyes and rubbed his face against the couch cushion. He couldn’t breathe. “What?” he grunted.

“Peter!” May gasped. “Sorry, baby. You weren’t waking up. Are you okay?”

Peter’s brain worked too hard to make sense of May’s words. He was wet. He didn’t want to be wet. Why was he wet? May was talking too fast. She flapped her hands. She was so loud. He didn’t like loud. He lay his head down again. The couch felt weird. Cold. It was wet, too. He sat up. He shivered. May disappeared. Huh. She reappeared. Cool. He wondered how she’d done it. She held a cup out to him. He looked at it, unsure of what she wanted.

“You need to drink something,” May said. “You must be dehydrated by now.”

That didn’t make sense either. Water dripped from his hair and soaked his shirt. He was plenty hydrated. “No,” he said stupidly.

“It’s okay. It’s just water. It won’t make you sick,” said May, confusing Peter’s blank refusal for reluctance in case he vomited again. She helped tip the cup to his lips before he could protest further.

The water, which felt blessedly cool in his hot, dry mouth, fell heavily into his empty stomach. It felt altogether wrong, like ocean water or freezing liquid metal in his belly, and his body rejected it. May hadn’t had time to set the empty cup down when the water made its reappearance, warm from the unhealthy heat of Peter’s body and thick from the addition of bile and saliva. Peter hadn’t even tried to aim it anywhere but straight down onto his own lap.

He blinked at the mess soaking into his pajamas with curiosity. Why was it that color? He hadn’t eaten anything that color. As though from a distance, he heard May talking to someone on the phone, her voice fast and shrill. “Ben, meet me at the hospital. Peter’s throwing up blood.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ben did not meet them at the hospital. Instead, he sped home as fast as New York afternoon traffic and the beat-up old car he and May shared would let him.. He parked illegally on the street outside their apartment building and ran up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator to arrive. “May?” he called as he burst through the door. The living room was empty.

“In here,” May yelled, and Ben followed her voice to the bathroom.

Peter sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat looking lanky, sweaty, and pale in only his underwear. His hair was damp and curlier than usual. A bright pink flush colored his cheeks. He looked like he’d been crying. He barely glanced up at his uncle.

“I thought you were going straight to the hospital,” said May, tearing Ben’s attention away from Peter’s sickly appearance. Her voice was calm, but the skin around her eyes was pinched and her mouth was tight. She was rinsing out of the sink where Ben caught a glimpse of yellow stomach bile.

“I have the car.”

“We could have taken a cab.”

Ben shook his head. “I don't mind.” Taxis were full of germs. They weren’t a good place for a sick boy. Admittedly, their car wasn’t that much cleaner, but at least the germs there were family germs. Besides, Ben needed to be there with them. For them. For May. He couldn’t send her off in a stranger’s car with Peter so sick he was vomiting blood. The very idea of it made him queasy with guilt.

“Well, thanks,” May said. “I appreciate it.” Her tone was flat, but there was relief in her eyes. She didn’t have to do this alone.

“Can I help?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. Can you get Petey dressed? He’s not, uh, standing too great right now.”

Ben’s eyes widened a bit but like his wife, he kept his voice relaxed. “Yeah. Sure.” He squeezed past May, accepting the clothes she passed him, to get to Peter. “Hey, buddy. How’re you doing?”

Peter shrugged, his glassy eyes meeting Ben’s for a moment before looking away. “I’m okay.”

Ben nodded, not believing him for a second. “How about we get you dressed, huh? What happened to your clothes?”

“Got sick. Aunt May’s washing them.” Peter sounded croaky and thick, almost disinterested.

An alarm went off in Ben’s head. Peter was interested in everything. He was always so curious. This wasn’t right. “Okay. I’ll make this quick, but if you feel like you’re going to be sick, I need you to let me know. Deal?”

Peter set his mouth in a grim line and gave a short nod.

Despite his promise to go fast, dressing Peter in the sweats May had picked out took much longer than he thought it would. Peter’s body was shaky and sticky with sweat. His T-shirt bunched up and clung to his skin as Ben tried to roll it down his torso. The hoody didn’t stick to him, but it took Ben a long time to guide his nephew’s head and limbs through the correct openings, and Peter had to stop and catch his breath when he finally emerged from the fleece. The pants were the worst. Peter tried to help by standing up. As soon as he started to hold his own weight and balance, his already pale face went as white as a sheet, and Ben had to push Peter’s head down between his knees so he wouldn’t pass out. By the time Peter’s shoes were on and he was ready, they were both breathing heavily.

“Are you ready?” Ben grunted as he hauled Peter onto his back.

May appeared, holding Peter’s social security card, his insurance card, and the checkbook in one hand, an empty plastic bag in the other, her purse slung across her back. “Yep. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Peter moaned into Ben’s ear. “I don't wanna go to the hospital.”

“I know, Petey, but you’re sick. They’ll get you feeling better, then we’ll bright you right back home,” Ben promised.

Peter didn’t say anything else, pressing his mouth against Ben’s shoulder. Dimmly, the man hoped he wouldn’t puke down his back.

Getting Peter into the car actually went pretty smoothly. May got into the backseat before lowered him out of his hold. He wasn’t given a chance to attempt standing on his own before May reached out to pull him back into the car with her. Peter gagged but couldn’t bring anything up.

Ben wanted to run every red light and swerve around oncoming cars to get to the hospital as fast as possible, but Peter moaned at every bump and sudden movement of the vehicle. Ben tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel as he waited for pedestrians to cross the street. “We should have just called a damn ambulance.”

“Our insurance doesn’t cover that,” May murmured, not looking up from where she was stroking Peter’s hair.

Ben let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s bullshit.”

“I’m okay,” Peter mumbled.

Ben looked in the rearview mirror, but Peter was lying down with his head in May’s lap. The plastic bag remained tangled in his fingers, still thankfully empty. “We’ll get there soon, bud. Ten more minutes.”

Seven minutes later, Ben carried Peter into the emergency room waiting room while May parked the car. He got Peter settled on one of the hard plastic seats before making his way to the nurse’s desk. “My kid’s sick. He needs to see a doctor now.”

The nurse hardly glanced up from her computer. “Fill these out, please.” She handed over a clipboard with a small mountain of forms. “Bring them back to me when you’re done.”

Emergency rooms were a joke, Ben decided as he sat down next to Peter. Unless you were visibly dying, you sat and waited like everyone else, emergency or not. He supposed he should be grateful his nephew wasn’t visibly dying. Pale, sweating, trembling, and hunkered over, Peter was certainly sick, but he was holding his own. He hadn’t vomited since Ben got home, but he was obviously suffering. Ben cupped a hand around the nape of Peter’s neck and looked over the paperwork. Some of these questions he could answer: name, age, birthdate, height, weight, current prescriptions, insurance company. Others May would have to fill out: social security number, insurance ID number, allergies, blood type, medical history. Ben flipped through the pages, doing what he could, before handing the rest over to his wife when she came running in. Once they had finished everything at last, Peter had fallen asleep, leaning against May’s shoulder.

Dutifully, Ben returned the clipboard to the desk nurse. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as she sorted through the papers - much too slowly for Ben’s liking. “Peter Parker,” she read aloud. “And you are?”

“Benjamin Parker.”

“His father is listed as Richard Parker.”

“He was my brother. He died ten years ago. My wife and I are Peter’s guardians now.”

The nurse nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She didn’t sound sorry. She sounded bored. Ben cracked his knuckles. “When did Peter start feeling sick?”

“Last night. It’s on the form,” Ben bit out.

“I’m just confirming,” the nurse smiled sweetly, immune to his irritation. “He had blood in his vomit? A lot of blood?”

“I don't know. Does it matter? Any blood is too much blood!” The nurse continued to smile benignly. “I was at work. You’d have to ask my wife.”

The nurse made a note on the computer. “And has he vomited since then?”

“Not that I know of. That was about an hour ago, I guess,” Ben supplied, trying to keep his temper under control.

“Okay.” The nurse typed something. The keys clicked loudly. “Just sit tight for a moment. Someone will call you back soon.”

Ben grunted his thanks and returned to his seat. “They want us to wait,” he grumbled, keeping his voice down so as to not disturb Peter. “It’s an emergency room. Obviously, it’s an emergency.”

May wanted to hold his hand, but she couldn’t reach him from around Peter. “We don't know what else is going on behind the scenes. Maybe there was a big wreck or something and all the doctors are busy. Peter’s doing okay. We can wait.”

Ben snorted. “Since when did you become the patient one?”

They sat in silence as they waited, watching the other in the waiting room and attempting to determine whose emergency was most pressing. A frantic young man led his heavily pregnant but much more serene wife into the ER. They were quickly escorted to a room. A man who was very calm despite the quantity of blood running down his arm sat down across from them only to be taken away by the desk nurse. An elderly couple who had been there before the Parkers arrived read old magazine articles to each other in the corner. A mother with four small children tried desperately to keep them all quiet and entertained, but failed spectacularly. A nurse came out at regular intervals to call patients back. Some left a short while later. Some didn’t come back.

Ben tried not to fidget. Peter had relaxed in his seat, warm and comfortable between his aunt and uncle. He had slid down so that his head rested on May’s upper arm instead of her shoulder. If Ben held his breath, he could hear the boy’s nearly silent snores. Peter’s leg pressed against his. Ben put his hand on his nephew’s thigh, offering any comfort he could.

“Thank you for coming with me,” May whispered over Peter’s head.

“Of course,” said Ben. “Peter was throwing up blood. Of course I would come.” May smiled, her eyes finally relaxing a bit. “How much blood was it, by the way? The nurse asked.”

May shrugged with her free shoulder. “I don't know. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink all day, so he didn’t have much in his system to throw up. About half of it looked like it was blood.” She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger to show the amount. She sighed. “It really freaked me out, even if it wasn’t that much.”

“It would have freaked me out, too.”

“So you don't think I overreacted?”

“No, I-” Ben’s response cut short when the man felt Peter shift abruptly next to him. The movement wasn’t the languid motion of one awakening, but sharp and sudden. “Petey?”

Peter’s head jerked back from May’s arm to thump against the back of the seat. For a moment, Ben was afraid Peter was going to vomit again, but Peter didn’t throw up. His body stiffened, and he made a horrible grunting noise, loud and pained. His head banged against the chair again, harder this time. The leg Ben held spasmed. Ben didn’t recognize, or refused to recognize, what was happening until May was screaming. He stood and watched as Peter slipped from his seat entirely and landed hard on the tile floor, not that the boy seemed to notice. His eyes remained closed, though his eyelids flickered. His limbs flailed and beat themselves on the floor in an uneven rhythm. A team of nurses pushed Ben none too gently out of the way, but not before he saw Peter’s chest heaving, his labored breaths forcing a pink-tinged foam from between his clenched teeth. The wall of nurses, the desk nurse among them, couldn’t block out the horrible noises emanating from the boy’s throat. He sounded at once like an adult man and a dying animal.

May was suddenly in his arms, and his surroundings returned to him. The children were wailing, and the couple watched wide-eyed from the corner. A family of newcomers stood just inside the door, staring as the scene unfolded. Ben was too shocked to do anything but wrap his arms around his wife and hold her as she cried.

Time passed too fast and too slow. Every awful grunt Peter made lasted a lifetime. The seizure went on and on and on. Then Ben blinked, and Peter and his swarm of nurses were gone, leaving behind nothing but a wet spot on the tile and the smell of urine.

“Oh, God,” May hissed under her breath. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” Ben held onto her, encapsulated in their fear and anxiety.

“Excuse me?”

Ben jumped, his eyes flickering to the nurse in baby pink scrubs before them. “What do you want?”

“We have a private waiting room if you want to wait for your son there.”

“Is he okay?” Ben asked, his throat tight.

“If you want to follow me.” Her lack of answer didn’t escape Ben’s notice. The nurse led them deeper into the hospital to a smaller waiting room. Instead of hard plastic chairs, the furniture here was soft and well worn. Harder to get blood out of, Ben couldn’t help but think.

“Someone will come to get you when he’s settled,” the nurse said. “I need to ask, does he have a history of seizures or epilepsy?”

May started crying again. “No,” Ben croaked. “This was- that was the first time he’s ever…”

The nurse patted his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little bit. I promise, he’s in good hands.”

Ben nodded because that was all he could do. The nurse left, and he and May were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a bit shorter than I would have liked, but I hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter opened his eyes to a scene that made no sense whatsoever. He was lying on his side on a firm, vinyl surface. Hands pressed down on him, keeping him in place. Strangers circled around him, talking in overlapping voices that were a confused mess. A woman was holding his hand. It wasn’t Aunt May. He wanted it to be Aunt May. He tried to pull his hand out of her grip, but his body wasn’t listening to him.

“Sweetie?”

It took him a moment to realize the owner of the hand was the one speaking. His eyes didn’t seem to want to focus on her face. He tried to move away from her, but his body wasn’t his own. A sob worked its way up his throat.

“You’re okay,” Not Aunt May said. “You just had a seizure, but you’re okay. Can you tell me your name?”

Peter’s voice didn’t want to cooperate. A wet moan fell out of his mouth.

“That’s okay, sweetie. Your brain is trying to recalibrate. Can you squeeze my hand?”

Peter clenched the wrong hand at first, but eventually found her hand and squeezed. The tiny action drained his energy.

“Good job, sweetie.” You’re doing great. Just hang in there with me, and we’ll get you cleaned up and back to your mom and dad, alright?”

That didn’t sound right. Peter tried to ask a question, but his eyelids rebelled against him and closed.

When Peter woke up next, his mind, while still jumbled, was not as messy as it had been. With his eyes still closed, he took inventory of his body. He was sore all over. His ears rang, and his head pounded. His stomach churned. His mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Even his cheeks hurt. He was freezing. Something tickled his nose. Most worrying was his lack of memory. He had no idea where he was.

He cracked his eyes open and moaned at the bright light piercing them. He heard shuffling around him, then a wavering voice. “Peter?” He squinted up at May’s face. Eyeliner circled low under her eyes, and tiny flecks of mascara dotted her cheeks. He’d never seen anyone smile that big but look so sad. He wondered if it was his fault. He hoped it wasn’t, but it probably was. “Hi.”

May’s smile broke her and tears filled her eyes.  “Hi, baby! Hi, my baby.” She kissed his cheek, his temple, his forehead. His nose was filled with her scent. Roses and citrus.

“May,” he breathed. “What’s- where- what-” his brain stuttered, trying and failing to prioritize his questions. “It’s bright,” he said instead.

“Ben, could you-?” May began to ask. Movement from the foot of his bed caught Peter’s attention. He watched his uncle fiddle with the light switches, trying to find the right one. The room dimmed but still seemed too bright. Ben bent to kiss his forehead before pacing to the door to call out to someone.

“Aunt May, where are we?” Peter’s brain had regained enough organization to ask.

“We’re in the hospital, baby. You’re in the ICU.”

Peter looked around without moving his head, which heavy and felt full of clay. An IV dripped clear liquid to a needle lodged in the back of his hand. A white plastic clip around his index finger connected him to a tall machine that displayed oxygen levels and heart rate. A large velcro cuff on his upper arm was hooked up to the same machine. He jumped when it began to inflate, measuring his blood pressure. He took his unencumbered hand from May to feel for the thing itching his nose.

“Don't mess with that, or the nurse will tape it in place.” May dragged his hand back into hers. “It’s a cannula. The doctor was concerned about your saturation levels.”

Peter nodded but furrowed his brow. He didn’t know what that meant. It didn’t sound good. Something pulled at his skin near his hairline as he rearranged his facial muscles. May hadn’t said anything about that, so maybe it was nothing. “What time is it?”

May checked her phone. “Almost 7.”

“In the morning or night?”

May’s eyebrows pinched together. “Night. Do you remember getting here?”

Peter rummaged through his mind, trying to find the memory. He most recent memories were composed of feelings and indistinct noises more than concrete images and sounds. He remembered picking at his dinner. He remembered feeling sick and May’s worried eyes. The taste of vomit and the scent of blood were there, too, but more distant. After that things got hazy. Peppermint flavored steam. Shivering. Nausea. Blood in his mouth and on his clothes. Being carried. Pain. Then nothing. “No.”

“You had a seizure, baby.” May rubbed her thumb along the ridge of his knuckles. “They took you away for testing and brought you back here. You’ve been drifting in and out for a while. Mostly out.”

“Oh.” It was all Peter could think to say. He had almost a full day of time in shadow and at least a few hours missing completely. It was disconcerting, to say the least, like an alien had taken over his body and it had just been returned to him. Everything felt weak and sensitive.

Ben returned to his bedside accompanied by two women. The taller one took a chart from the shorter one. “Hi, Peter. I’m Dr. Gellner. I’m glad to see you awake.”

Peter nodded, not sure what to say. He didn’t feel totally comfortable knowing strangers had been watching him sleep, or drift, as May called it.

“We’ve been going over your test results. Your blood cultures have come back negative, but imaging shows a slight inflammation of the brain, which likely caused the seizure.”

“I don't understand,” May interrupted. “Why would his brain be inflamed?” She visibly paled. “He hasn’t hit his head or anything, have you?”

Peter shook his head. His neck felt too weak to fully support it, and he stopped.

“Well, it means that it probably isn’t epilepsy, but the EEG will tell us more.” Dr. Gellner pointed her pen at Peter’s head, and he remembered the weird pull he’d felt there. “I wanted to talk to you about your symptoms, Peter. Your aunt has been helping us out, but it’s better if you can tell us what’s going on. You’ve been nauseated, vomiting, and had nosebleeds. Fever, difficulty waking, the seizure, obviously, and bloody vomit. Does that sound right?”

Peter shrugged.

“Do you have anything to add?”

“I’m really tired. I’ve had a headache, too.”

“Has your neck been stiff?” the other woman asked.

“My neck and back, yeah, but it’s just from my backpack.”

“They give him a lot of homework,” Ben chimed in. “Competitive school.”

The doctor and nurse shared a look, an unspoken conversation. “Has Peter had a meningitis vaccination?”

Ben looked to May, who shook her head. “His doctor said he didn’t need it until he was fifteen or sixteen.”

“Okay. This sounds like bacterial meningitis to me. He blood test may have missed it, but we’ll do a lumbar puncture to be sure. Alaysia here will get him started on antibiotics in the meantime. Someone will be here to do the procedure in a few minutes.”

“So soon?” Ben asked.

“With this sort of infection, it’s important to move quickly, yes.”

“What does that mean?”

Peter noticed that Dr. Gellner glanced at him before answering. “Meningitis B can be very serious, especially in someone Peter’s age. If that’s what this is, and I think it is, we need to get a handle on it sooner than later.”

“If you have any questions, Mr. Parker, you can ask me,” the nurse, Alaysia, said so pointedly Peter suspected she was hiding something from him. He couldn’t worry about that right now, though.

“What’s a lumbar puncture?” he asked.

“It’s to collect spinal fluid. Don't worry. You’ll get an anesthetic, so it won’t hurt.” Dr. Gellner patted his foot, but it did nothing to reassure him.

Alaysia recorded the readings from the machines onto the chart and drew blood from the crook of his arm. When she and Dr. Gellner were gone, May moved from the chair to sit next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

The question was difficult to answer. His muscles ached. His head and eyes throbbed. His throat burned, and the inside of his mouth stung like he’d been eating glass mixed with fire ants. Every hair on his body stood on end. The nasal cannula made him feel like he was about to sneeze though it never came. The hospital gown was scratchy. The fact that he’d been changed out of his clothes by some nameless, faceless stranger was embarrassing. He shifted his legs and noticed a catheter protruding from the hem of his gown. His face grew hot. Soon, someone would come in to put a needle in his spine. The blood pressure cuff around his around inflated and tightened, drawing his attention back to the machine. He wondered how much all this would cost. Ben and May tried not to talk about money in front of him, but Peter knew hospital visits were expensive even with insurance helping out. Guilt swelled in his belly, nearly overwhelming the anxiety pressing down on his chest. What was happening to him?

“Peter?” May brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, and he realized he must have been staring off into space. “Are you still with me?”

Peter jerked his head to look at his aunt. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, baby. It’s okay. You don't need to be sorry.”

Peter grimaced. He couldn’t help but be sorry, whether he needed to or not. “I’m just tired.”

“I'm sure you are. Just go to sleep. They'll give you some medicine and do some tests, and you'll be all fixed up. Go on and sleep, and we'll be home before you know it.”

Peter wanted to believe her, but he remembered the wordless conversation between the nurse and the doctor and the way Alaysia had looked at Ben. He didn't know what was going on, but he would be going home anytime soon. He was too tired to worry about it as much as he normally would. His eyes ached to close, so he tucked his nose against May's hip and quickly went to sleep.

* * *

 

May gently combed her fingers through Peter's hair.  She'd done it so much it was flat and the curls became limp waves. She kept her touch light and gentle, avoiding the electrodes glued down along his hairline and on his scalp.  May knew they were for the EEG to monitor for seizures, but she didn't know how. She hated them. They made her nephew look like some sort of science experiment. She sighed. Crying was no use.

Peter let out a little snore into her jeans, and May smiled despite herself.  Peter didn't like sleeping on his back. Even as a little boy, he was a tummy sleeper. The tubes and wires connected to him prevented him from rolling over into a more comfortable position. May knew she should reposition Peter's head so his face wasn't smushed into her thigh or move off the bed entirely now that he was asleep, but she didn't want to move. Peter's puffing breaths were warm and damp against her jeans. He was alive. He was still breathing. Everything would be okay.

“How are you holding up?” Ben had moved to May's vacated seat. The lines on his face seemed to be deeper and more defined than May remembered.

“I don't really know,” May answered honestly. “He woke up all the way. He hasn't had another seizure. The doctor doesn't think he has epilepsy, so that's good.”

“Yeah.” The frown lines around Ben's mouth got impossibly deeper.

“What?”

Ben heaved a great sigh. “It is good that it's not epilepsy, but that just means they don't know why he had a seizure, which means they don't know how to treat it.”

“But Dr. Gellner said it was probably meningitis,” May argued. “They're starting treatment for it now.”

“Thinking it’s something and knowing what it is are different. The tests came back negative.”

“They’re going to run another test and do the puncture thingy. The doctor wouldn’t have told us what she thought it was unless she was at least, like, eighty-five percent sure,” insisted May, her voice rising. Peter snored again and tilted his head away from her. “If she thinks it’s meningitis,” she continued, quieter, “I believe her.”

“Fine,” Ben surrendered. “Let’s say it is bacterial meningitis. That’s not a good thing. Meningitis B is serious.”

“That’s what Alaysia said.”

“Yeah. I just looked it up.” He handed his phone to his wife so she could read the article for herself. “It can be fatal in teenagers. Ten percent of kids Peter’s age die if they catch it. Some within twenty-four hours.”

“But Peter started showing symptoms yesterday, over twenty-four hours ago. Plus he’s in the hospital, so they’ll be able to treat him, right? Right?” she repeated when Ben didn’t respond.

“I don't know, May,” he said finally. “Maybe it is Meningitis B. Maybe they’ll be able to treat it and everything will be fine. I really hope it will. But there’s something about there being a ten percent chance everything won’t be fine, and Peter being in the top ten percent of his class.”

“Top two percent,” May quietly corrected. “You’re being ridiculous.” And yet… She stroked another flattened curl. Things never seemed to work out in Peter’s favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for any glaring medical mistakes in this chapter. I have never been admitted to the hospital, nor has any of my immediate family, so I had no personal point of reference regarding hospital policies or protocols. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Ben leaned against the beige textured wall of Peter’s hospital room and stared out the window at the lightening sky. The coffee in his hand was hot but had nothing else to commend it. He sipped it anyway. The purple sky brightened as pink stained clouds drifted in above the skyline. On the street below, garbage trucks, taxies, and early commuters rumbled noisily along. Ben wouldn’t be joining them today.

May was stretched out on the thin cot Alaysia had brought in the night before. Peter was motionless on his bed, and the only sound in the room was the monotonous beeping of Peter’s machine. The boy had had a long night. They all had. Ben hadn’t been allowed to stay in the room while the lumbar puncture was performed. He sat on the bench outside the door to wait as a doctor and a team of nurses worked to extract a sample of Peter’s spinal fluid. May had been allowed to stay with Peter for emotional support. Ben couldn’t do anything but listen to Peter’s fearful cries and pray. In the end, it didn’t even matter. The test results were negative. No evidence of meningitis. They pushed antibiotics anyway. Pain medicine and a fever reducer were introduced through his IV as well. More tests were run on his blood and urine. New MRI and CT scans were taken. Nurses can in every twenty minutes to check his vitals. Dr. Gellner did her best to answer their questions, but it was clear that she was just as confused as they were. The antibiotics made Peter antsy and the pain medicine made him sleepy. He was uncomfortable, nervous, and exhausted. He finally fell into an uneasy sleep around 1:30 AM.

Ben hadn’t slept at all, really. He made himself as comfortable as he could in the hard vinyl armchair with the pillow and blanket Alaysia had gotten him, but sleep never came. Instead, he listened to the beeping of Peter’s heart rate and worried about the impending hospital bills. So many tests had been run, and every one of them cost more than Ben cared to imagine. He had no idea how they would pay it all off. He was sure their savings wouldn’t cover it, and he had absolutely no intention of dipping into Peter’s college fund. Maybe they could sell the car, or May could get a full-time job. It would be hard, but they would make it work. Nothing else mattered so long as Peter was okay.

God. Peter. Ben ran a hand over his exhausted face. Everything was happening so fast, and yet nothing was happening at all. He wasn’t a doctor, but Ben could understand the temperature reading. Peter’s fever was back and rising again, despite all their efforts.

A soft noise startled him. He turned, expecting Alaysia or one of the other nurses to be in the doorway, but no one was there. Peter shifted on the bed, trying to push himself up.

“Hey, buddy.” Ben set his coffee down and pushed Peter gently back down onto the mattress. “No, don't get up yet. It’s still early. You should sleep.”

Peter squinted up at him and shook his head. His skin was paler than ever and his lips were almost grey. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ben asked, already pushing the call button.

“Hurts,” Peter whimpered.

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

May woke as Alaysia burst in. “What’s happening?” No one answered her question. Alaysia bent over Peter, who was crying louder now that he was more awake. He pushed down his blankets to expose his arms for the nurse. Dozens of red, inflamed open sores littered his arms. The tips of his fingers were red and raw. Peter cried as she gently pressed on one, and Ben balked. They looked like spider bites.

“Peter,” Alaysia called, her voice remaining calm even as it raised in volume. “I need you to take a breath for me, okay? I’m going to take care of this, but you need to stay calm. Where else hurts? Put it on a scale from one to ten.”

“My- my-” Peter’s shaking voice stopped abruptly. From over Alaysia’s shoulder, Ben saw Peter’s eyes unfocus and his pained face go slack.

“Peter,” Alaysia called again. She glanced at Peter’s machine. “He’s seizing.”

It didn’t look like a seizure, at least no one that Ben recognized. There were no big, jerking movements. No convulsions. Peter just stared straight ahead, his eyelids fluttering, but not blinking. Alaysia acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. She pulled the blanket off Peter’s legs to check for the mystery sores. Spots dotted the boy’s feet and crawled up his calves. Only his torso and face were spared.

“Ben,” May called uncertainly.

“Are those bites?” Ben asked.

“No, I don't think so,” said the nurse. “It may be an allergic reaction to the antibiotics. I’ll switch him over to something else. Peter? Everything’s going to be alright, okay?”

“Can he hear us?” May asked, standing to stroke her boy’s cheek.

“He might be aware of us.”

“Peter, baby, can you hear me?” May called. “I’m right here, Petey. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Peter didn’t respond. His breaths were loud and much too fast, like he was hyperventilating. A wad of the fitted sheet was clenched in his fist as though he were trying to anchor himself. After a minute, the seizure slowed to a stop, and Peter gasped.

“Hey, Peter. There you are,” May crooned. “You’re okay.”

The teenager shook his head, slow tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“Can you tell me what just happened?” Alaysia asked him. “Just tell me what you remember,” she prompted when Peter kept shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” Ben encouraged.”You can do it.”

Peter took a moment to gather himself. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, frowning when it stung his sores. “Woke up. My hands and feet burned. I saw Uncle Ben, and then… I don’t remember.”

“You said you were in pain,” Ben reminded him. “How are you feeling now?”

“My head hurts, and my mouth. My arms and legs, too.”

Alaysia peered into his mouth with a penlight. “Was your mouth hurting before?”

“Don't know.”

“You had a seizure. A partial complex, but it looks like you bit the inside of your cheek. I don't see any evidence of the rash on the esophagus, though. I’ll bring you some ice chips to suck on. That should make it feel better.”

“Why is he still having seizures?” asked May.

“At this point, Peter would be considered an epileptic. His seizures are unprovoked. Since he’s had two in a short time period. Dr. Gellner may want to start him on an anticonvulsant. She’ll be in later this afternoon to talk to you about it.”

“What do you mean ‘unprovoked’?” Ben demanded. “Isn’t whatever this is provoking them?”

“I just mean he hadn’t had a head injury that would cause a seizure. He’s too old for it to be a febrile seizure, and his fever isn’t that high. I can bring you some reading material on epilepsy if you like.”

May squeezed Ben’s hand, cutting off any retort he might have had. “Thank you.”

“Sit tight and I’ll be right back with your ice.” Alaysia made a note on his chart and readjusted his IV drip to up his pain medication before leaving the room.

“Well,” Ben forced himself to smile, trying to break through the quiet tension, “you certainly don't do anything halfway, do you? There are better ways to get attention, you know. How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” Peter mumbled and closed his eyes. “It’s too bright.”

May quirked an eyebrow at Ben. The only light on in the room was the one by the door, which cast just enough light to see by. There wasn’t any bright light in the room at all.

“Why don't you go back to sleep?” May suggested.

“Can’t,” Peter complained. “My arms hurt.”

“Your pain meds should kick in soon. You’re getting the good stuff,” Ben joked. Peter didn’t smile. “Just try, okay?”

Peter did try. He kept his eyes shut and slowed and deepened his breathing, but he couldn’t sleep. He could feel his heartbeat in his head. Not only that - he could hear it. He could hear the rush of blood through his ears. His arms and legs hurt. It was just like the spider bite but all over. The tips of his fingers and toes hurt especially. The skin felt blistered and burned. Every movement hurt. Whatever pain medicine he was on wasn’t working. His thoughts swirled around like a storm in his head. Thoughts passed by, too mushy and wispy to follow for long. He didn’t know if that was caused by the medication, the fever, or the seizure. He supposed he should be more concerned about the epilepsy possibility, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He heard Alaysia come back, presumably with the ice chips she had promised, but Peter didn’t open his eyes. He was too tired.

A hand pushed his hair back from his face. He seemed to sense every strand of hair moving. Weird. It felt nice, though. He could smell May’s perfume. It had faded, but he could still smell it mingled with the scents of hand soap and sweat.

“I think he’s asleep.”

“Alaysia gave him more morphine,” Ben whispered. “He’ll probably be out for a while.” Peter didn’t bother to correct them. “You should go home for a little while. Sleep. Shower. Eat real food.”

“I don't want to leave him.”

“I’ll stay with him until you get back. He won’t even know you’re gone.”

The hand stilled. “But I’d know. I can’t leave him. He just had a seizure. How can I leave?”

“I know, but there’s nothing we can do. All we can do for him is keep him company. He’s sleeping now, so now’s the best time.”

“So you leave. I’ll stay with him.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I guess we can wait and get cleaned up later.”

May’s hand resumed its pattern, and Peter could picture perfectly her smug face. “So,” May sighed. “Epilepsy, huh?”

Ben sighed in return. “Yeah. That doesn’t make any sense to me. He’s never had seizures before. It has to be connected to whatever this is. The seizures, the fever, and now this rash. These have to be symptoms of something.”

“I’m sure the doctors know that,” May reasoned. “His tests are negative. They’re trying to figure out what’s going on. We have to give them more time.”

“I know. I know, it’s just…” he trailed off with a huff. “I don't want to give them more time. I want them to figure it out already. I want to take our boy home.”

“Me too, believe me, but until they can determine what’s causing all this, that’s not an option. He’ll just get sicker and sicker at home. Here they can do something about it.”

A rough hand settled on his exposed arm. Peter flinched back from the touch without meaning to and hissed in a sharp breath. His skin was on fire. He whimpered, and immediately the hand was gone.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry, bud. I- Fuck.”

“Ben.”

“I can’t even touch him. I hurt him.”

“He’s okay. Look, he’s still asleep. It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Are you listening to me, Benjamin Parker? It will be alright.”

Peter must have fallen asleep for real because the next time he opened his eyes May was wearing different clothes, and his limbs were wrapped in bandages. His body was sore, like he’d been in one place for too long. He stretched, ignoring the discomfort in his muscles. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” May put her phone down and smiled at him. “How are you doing?”

Peter shrugged. “Where’s Uncle Ben?”

“Getting us something to eat. Do you want anything? You haven’t eaten anything in a couple  days.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Dr. Gellner said you might not be, but you need to try to eat something.”

“The doctor was here?”

“She came in a while ago to check on you. You’ve been sleeping for a long time. It’s past dinner time now.”

Peter blinked. “I slept all day?”

“Yeah. The doctor said the seizure wore you out. They switched you to a new antibiotic and put medicine on the rash. Does it still hurt?”

“Itches.”

May nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty nasty looking.” She laughed when Peter wrinkled his nose up at her. “I have good news, though. Your fever is down.”

“Is it gone? Can I go home?”

“Sorry, sweetie. Not yet. Dr. Gellner says you need to be able to eat without puking and go at least twenty-four hours without having a seizure before that’s an option.”

“I don't want to be here anymore,” Peter said, his voice coming out whinier than he intended. His throat was tight, but he was tired of crying.

“I know. I don't want you to be here anymore, either.” She kissed his temple. “Come on. No more moping. Do you want to try to eat something?”

He wasn’t remotely hungry, but he agreed anyway. Anything to get out of this place as soon as possible. A nurse brought in a tray of juice and beef broth just as Ben returned, his arms laden with Chinese takeaway boxes. “Just take it slow,” the nurse advised. The juice was easy. His tongue had been so dry, it didn’t even feel like a tongue anymore. The apple juice was a bit watery, but it was sweet and cold and refreshed him. The broth was a different matter. His bandaged fingers were clumsy and slipped around the spoon. His hands were shaking, possibly because he hadn’t eaten anything in days. The first spoonful of soup slopped down his front before he even gotten it close to his mouth. The second one didn’t get past his tray table before spilling.

“You could use your juice straw,” May suggested, but Peter shook his head.

“It’s too hot.”

“Here,” said Ben. “I’ve got this.” He took the spoon from his nephew and ladled up a mouthful. “Open up.”

Heat rushed into Peter’s cheeks, but he opened his mouth and allowed his uncle to feed him like a baby. After every mouthful, they waited a full minute to make sure it stayed down. Halfway through the bowl, Peter felt his stomach turn. “I need to stop.”

“Take a breath,” Ben said. “You’re okay. You can manage a little more.”

“No.”

“Can you try to, Peter?” May asked. “Just three more bites, and you can be done.”

Peter looked into the bowl suspiciously. “One more?”

“Fine. One more,” Ben compromised, already holding up the final spoonful.

Peter obediently opened his mouth. As soon as the broth met his tongue, his stomach clenched. He spat it out onto his tray. “Good try,” he heard Ben say as he wiped his mouth and chin, but Peter couldn’t pay attention to him; he was too busy trying ease the spasming in his stomach. His ears began to ring, and sweat beaded on his upper lip.

May pressed the call button. “It’s okay if you need to throw up, Peter. Fighting it will make you feel worse.”

But Peter wasn’t nauseated. It wasn’t that kind of pain. He stomach clenched and unclenched, the cramps reaching throughout his abdomen to his back. He screwed his eyes up, trying to block out the incessant ringing in his head. Suddenly Alaysia was there, pushing lightly down on his stomach. “Does this make it worse or better?”

“Nothing,” Peter managed through gritted teeth. The cramps spread up to his shoulders, his neck, and traveled down his arms and legs. Every muscle spasmed of its own accord, and there was nothing Peter could do but ride out the pain.

“Is it another seizure?” May asked in a shrill, panicked voice.

“No,” Peter and Alaysia answered together. Peter couldn’t really remember the seizures, but somehow he knew this was different. The seizures were a blank for him. He was in the moment, and then suddenly he wasn’t, and his brain fumbled to try to catch up. Now, he was painfully aware of every untrollable movement of his body. His muscles tightened into rock-hard balls that refused to let go. Alaysia brought him heating pads and gave him a muscle relaxer she swore would make him comfortable and sleepy, but still, Peter’s body rebelled.

“Why isn’t it working?” Water streamed from Peter’s eyes unbidden. “Please. It hurts.”

For the first time, Alaysia’s face betrayed her. She was just as confused as Peter. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don't understand.”

There was nothing Peter could do but grit his teeth and bear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than I wanted it to be, but it felt like nothing important was happening so I let it ramble a bit. Sorry about that.


	6. Chapter 6

The hours of discomfort and pain stretched into days. Alaysia administered so many doses of medicine to relieve Peter’s itching, pain, and cramping that she became concerned about overdosing, but none of it made a difference. Dr. Gellner ordered more and more tests that all came back inconclusive, obviously at a loss. She couldn’t find a plausible cause for Peter’s symptoms. She ran every test she could think of to figure out what was happening to her patient, but she never got the results she was expecting. His fever, rash, seizures, migraines, and cramps couldn’t be explained. She couldn’t even suggest a specialist for the Parkers. 

It didn’t help that Peter’s case was becoming increasingly bizarre. His fever stayed relatively low and showed no sign of breaking no matter what medication was prescribed. He continued to experience seizure activity, though the seizures seemed to be decreasing in severity. The strangest of all was the blistering rash covering his arms and legs. The sores wept clear fluid and their bandages had to be changed every few hours. Then, suddenly, they were gone. Alaysia had unwrapped the gauze one day to find perfectly intact skin. There was no sign of the rash that had befuddled the nursing staff and disgusted the Parkers. 

By the time the weekend was over, everyone was at their wit’s end. Peter was more exhausted than he’d ever been. The cramps continued, but Peter was finally able to stomach solid food. In fact, he was always hungry. On Thursday, a full week since he was admitted, Peter’s temperature was finally close enough to normal for him to be released.

“I bet you’re ready to be home,” Alaysia said as she and May helped Peter into a wheelchair. It was standard hospital procedure to leave via wheelchair, and despite Peter’s sudden and dramatic improvement, the ordeal had left him weak.

Peter grunted. “Yeah. I miss my bed.”

“I think you’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few days.” Dr. Gellner had told May that Peter would be allowed to return to school as soon as he had been fever free for 24 hours, but May didn’t want him leaving the apartment until she was sure he was back to normal.

“Good.” Peter clambered into Ben’s waiting car without assistance. As soon as he had buckled his seatbelt, he leaned his head against the window and went to sleep. May took the passenger seat, and they were on their way. 

As they pulled onto the highway, Ben glanced into the rearview mirror to look at Peter in the back and smiled.

“What?” May asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking. Do you remember when Peter started elementary school?”

“Of course I do.”

“I used to drive him to school. He was always so sleepy in the mornings I would have to wake him up when we got there.”

May laughed. “He always falls asleep in the car. At least when he rides the bus, he has friends to keep him awake. If he ever learns to drive, he’ll have to keep the radio on or something.”

“Do you think he will want to drive? He likes taking the subway.”

“I don't know. If Ned decides to drive, I’m sure Peter will want to, too. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Peter leaned heavily against May as they walked into the apartment and seemed annoyed that he couldn’t support his weight on his own, but May was happy. Her boy was out of the hospital. He was home. She and Ben talked about Peter’s future without any scared hesitance. Everything would be okay. “Do you want something to eat, or are you ready for a nap?”

“I want to take a shower,” Peter decided. “I haven’t washed my hair in a week. It feels like I’m wearing a helmet.”

“Are you sure you don't want a sponge bath?” Ben teased. “I thought you loved those.”

Peter flushed and narrowed his eyes. “Never again.” 

“Do you want uncle Ben to help you? I don't want you to fall or anything if you start to cramp up.”

“Aunt May,” Peter whined. “I’ll be fine. I can shower by myself.” His blush deepened.

“You just got out of the hospital. I don't want to have to bring you back.”

“Why don't you sit in the shower, or take a bath instead?” Ben suggested before Peter could argue. He turned to May. “That way he wouldn’t fall.”

“Not a bath,” May said. “He could have a seizure and slip under the water and drown.”

“Fine. A shower, then. I’ll order pizza so we can all eat together when you’re done, okay Pete?”

Peter was grateful to finally escape into the solitude of the bathroom. After a week of doctors and nurses checking on him and his aunt and uncle hovering. Peter needed some time alone. He was still processing what was happening to him. There were certain changes he had noticed that he didn't tell anyone at the hospital. Everyone was worrying and looking for things that were going wrong, but these changes, while weird, weren't bad. After every pounding headache, Peter noticed he could see more clearly than before and hear sounds from farther and farther away. Even as time went on, these improvements never dimmed. The muscle cramps hurt like hell, but after the pain finally faded, his muscles remained hard and noticeably more defined than before. When he undressed to get in the shower, he saw his body fully for the first time since he was admitted to the hospital. He stared. He had abs. He'd never had abs. He poked his stomach. There was no give in the muscles. 

In the shower, he felt along his arms and legs. His veins stood out prominently on his forearms and even his hands. His legs were thick with muscle. He wondered if any of his jeans would still fit. This couldn't just be puberty, could it?

He finally tore his attention away from his changing body to wash himself. He was sure if he spent more than fifteen minutes in the shower, May would barge in to make sure he was okay. Sitting made the experience awkward, but the soap and hot water made him feel more like a person again. Once he was clean, he turned off the water and clambered to his feet. Then something weird happened. 

As he moved the shower curtain out of the way, the material stuck to his hand. Peter wasn't even gripping it, but it clung to him like he was covered in glue. Startled, Peter tripped as he stepped over the wall of the tub and fell hard, pulling the shower curtain, rod, rings, and all, down with him.

The door was flung open. “Peter! Shit, are you okay?” Ben burst into the room, a wild, panicked look in his eyes. He took in his nephew's crumpled form, and his eyes went impossibly wider. “What happened? Did you pass out?”

“Ben!” Peter covered himself with the fallen shower curtain, blushing furiously. “Get out! I'm fine!”

“What happened?” Ben demanded again. May appeared in the doorway behind him, looking scared. 

“Nothing! I just tripped getting out.”

“Did you hit your head at all?” May asked. 

“No,” Peter answered forcefully. “Can you guys get out now, please? I'm fine. I want to get dressed.”

“No. Let me see your head. If you had a seizure and hit it, you wouldn't remember it.”

“I didn't have a seizure,” Peter insisted, but Ben wouldn't be moved. He ran his fingers gently over Peter's scalp, searching for bumps or any sign of trauma. A buzzer sounded from the living room, and May reluctantly went to let the pizza guy in. When Ben was finally satisfied that Peter really hadn’t hit his head on anything, he pulled the boy to his feet, gripping his upper arms tight in case he fell again. He sat him down on the toilet seat. Peter trailed the shower curtain along with them. 

“Let go of that, and we’ll get you dried off,” Ben said, holding a towel open. “Don't bother being embarrassed. I changed your diapers when you were a baby, you know.”

“I can’t. That’s why I tripped. It’s stuck to my hand.” Peter held out his hand, and the curtain fell away like it had never been stuck to him. Peter’s mouth hung open slightly as he flexed his now free hand. There was no stickiness. His hand felt the way it always had. He rubbed his fingers together. There was nothing there. He’d been certain the shower curtain had glued itself to him. That was why he had fallen. He couldn’t have imagined it, could he? But why would it stick to him? It didn’t make any sense either way. He stared at his hand, still wiggling his fingers. Could it all be in his head? He had been really sick. Maybe he was confused.

“Peter? Petey, are you with me, bud?”

Peter blinked. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Ben trying to get his attention. He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“I think you had a seizure there. Are you feeling okay?”

Peter knew it wasn’t a seizure (he never remembered his seizures), but he didn’t correct his uncle. “Yeah.”

“Can you say anything other than ‘yeah’?” Ben asked, only half joking.

“Yeah. Yes,” Peter added when Ben’s brows pinched together in concern. “Sorry.”

He stayed quiet as he let Ben dry and dress him. Ben supported him as he was steered out into the living room and onto his usual seat at the table. He grunted his thanks as May set a plate of pizza in front of him. 

“Is he okay?” he heard May ask in a whisper.

“I think so. He had a seizure in the bathroom. An absence one, I think. He’s still kind of out of it. He should probably go to bed soon. I think he’s worn himself out.”

“Poor baby.” May dropped a kiss to Peter’s temple. “Do you want some pizza?”

Peter nodded but made no move to feed himself. What if he stuck to the table? Or the pizza? Or if he didn’t but thought he did and freaked out and scared his aunt and uncle and they brought him back to the hospital and had to stay there for another week and do more tests? No thank you. He stared down at his plate. This time, he saw the concerned look his guardians shared.

“Here, sweetie. Let me help you with that.” May cut the pizza into bite-sized pieces and began to feed him. All through the meal, Peter stayed quiet. He didn’t want to worry May or Ben, but having possible hallucinations about sticky shower curtains or actually sticking to random things seemed like a greater cause for concern than the occasional seizure his family already knew about. He made his way through ¾ of a pizza before he turned his head away from the forkful May offered him. 

“I’m done.”

“Oh?” May smiled at him. “Are you feeling any better now?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess so. The shower was nice.”

“Yeah, your hair looks better,” Ben said, reaching over to ruffle it. “Can you tell me what happened? Why you fell?”

Peter sucked in his lips and shook his head.

“That’s okay.” May patted Peter’s hand. “You must be tired. Do you want to lie down for a little while?”

“Okay.” Peter stood and moved away from the table to go to his room before anyone could try to help him.

“What was that about?” he heard May whisper.

“I don't know,” Ben answered.

Peter ignored them and went to his room. He held the doorknob of the closed door as lightly as he could with two fingertips. His hand slipped over the handle, not opening the door. Hesitantly, he gripped the knob harder and pulled. With a loud splintering, Peter ripped the door away from the dangling hinges. The door was so light in his hand, Peter almost forgot he was holding it. He let it slip through his fingers to bang against the floor.

“Peter!” May was there, pulling Peter away from the empty doorway and into her arms. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I- I don't know,” Peter stuttered. “The door. It just-”

“It didn’t fall on you, did it?” Ben asked. He stepped over the fallen door to examine the broken hinges.

“No. I’m okay. Really,” he pushed away from May’s embrace. “I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.”

“Sure, honey. Let me go make up the couch for you.” May tried to lead him away, but Peter easily resisted.

“No. I can still be in my own bed,” Peter insisted. “I don't want to sleep on the couch.”

May looked to Ben, who nodded. “I can try to fix the door later. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Just yell if you need anything,” said May. Peter could see how hard it was for her not to hover over him.

“I will,” he promised. As he slid under the familiar blankets, he swore his bed had never seemed so comfortable. He listened to May and Ben’s discussion about the door and his apparent seizure, every word as clear as though they were speaking right next to him. He could hear people talking on the street far below, and with only a little concentration, he could make out distinct conversations. He rolled on to his side and tuned out the world around him enough to fall asleep.

He woke suddenly and completely several hours later. Someone was in the room. His eyes snapped open. At the same time, his hand shot out instinctually and grabbed hold of a very startled Ben’s arm.

“Whoa, bud. It’s just me. I was just coming to check on you.”

Peter released his uncle, breathing heavily.

Ben rubbed the place Peter had grabbed him. “That’s one hell of a grip you got. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Peter panted. His heart was still beating hard and fast in his ears and his breathing was quick, but he wasn’t scared; he was aware, his body alert and ready for action. He tried to calm himself. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” Ben said in a soothing voice, but Peter noticed his wrist was red. “You must have been having a bad dream or something. I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, huh?”

“I guess.”

Ben checked his temperature and gave him his next round of medication, not that it seemed to do any good.

Peter stayed on edge over the next few days. His fever finally broke, and his cramps faded away. He worked to catch up on the homework Ned brought him. Ned, who must have been warned that Peter was still not quite himself, tiptoed awkwardly around him when he came over, afraid of upsetting him and setting off a seizure.

“Dude, can you relax?” he finally said. “You don't have to act like I’m going to freak out if you say the wrong thing.”

Ned blushed. “May said-”

“May’s just worried about me, but I’m fine, really. I haven’t had a seizure in like, almost a week. Ben says I can go back to school on Monday.”

“Really?” Ned asked, hopeful.

“Yeah! Besides, look at this.” Peter lifted his shirt to reveal his new six-pack abs. 

“Whoa!” Ned exclaimed, poking Peter’s hard stomach, making his friend laugh. “Why are you so buff?”

“I don't know.” Peter put down his shirt. He had a hunch, but he didn’t say anything.

“Wait until Flash finds out you can take him if he starts messing with us. You could totally deck him.”

“What? No! I don't want to hurt anybody.”

“Fine,” Ned sighed. “It is really cool, though.”

“Yeah, it is pretty cool,” Peter smiled. That night, after Ned left and Ben and May were fast asleep, Peter climbed the walls for the first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thank you so much for sticking with this fic. I hope I didn't end it too abruptly, but I didn't want to draw it out longer than I felt it needed to be. I may come back to the Spider-Man fandom, so if you have any requests for things you'd like to see in the future, leave me a comment here or contact me on Tumblr at bambirosesavage.

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all know me irl, you know my deep love of Spider-Man. It was always only a matter of time before I wrote a Spider-Man fic of my own. I know with all the recent remakes of Spider-Man, everyone is over the origin story, but there is no way someone can experience genetic mutation without feeling sick, especially if that person is a kid. Besides, everyone loves a sickfic, right?  
> Come talk to me on Tumblr at bambii--rose


End file.
